Redeemer

“A fantastically grim and all too logical point,” L said, and he’d gone on to stacking his Napoleons like black and white creamy bricks, building a veritable fort around his plate.

Dr. Gregory was exhausted by the discussion, but had yet to forfeit. “Abiding by all this theoretical conjecture for the sake of argument,” he said, “In essence that would mean your best chance of ever stopping Kira before he is divinely unstoppable is to remove the fragment now before it’s too late regardless of the eternal consequences—it would be an act for the greater good.”

“Or not,” L said, maintaining that Devil’s Advocate position. “If he is indeed meant to judge. And what if it was already too late? What if he’s already earned the approval of the appropriate Death Gods who aim to induct him to their world upon his death? If I were them, I would be impressed by his accomplishments thus far. Here and now we are returned right to the root of the issue where all the balance rests with Light himself—his will, his choice—like the god he wants to be, the fate of us all rests in his hands.”

“And you’re willing to concede that amount of power to him?”

“Isn’t this all conjecture anyway?” Matt interrupted. “The only solid facts we have to go on at all right now is Light’s medical condition and whether or not he succumbs to it, in which case what happens after his death is something none of us will ever know unless he does become a shinigami and drops off a notebook somewhere. Seems to me, if Kira were a bona fide Death God, he’d usurp all the other death gods, take their notebooks and proceed to eliminate half the known world—he’d only drop a book—probably in front of you, L—for bragging rights on what he accomplished.”

Mello snorted because that indeed sounded like something Light would do.

“So we’re basically fighting shadows on the wall,” L muttered, distracted by a tower of pastries—thankfully that was normal for him.

“Can we bring this conversation back to earth?” the doctor interjected. “What we are currently facing is a medical anomaly. Kira is either healing well, or developing a severely debilitative disease due to the introduction of a vastly foreign organism—if even—into his system. The here and now is whether he lives or dies—and that rests with us, and our decision on whether to remove this foreign element from his body.”

“I believe I already answered that issue,” L said flatly.

The doctor relented at that, because L was as stubborn as a spoiled 7-year-old. “Fine, it stays—”

“No worries,” L muttered. “I shall personally take full responsibility for the consequences, before Kira, God and the world—and we four here.” And with that, he gulped the last un-stacked cannoli.

“Well,” Mello exclaimed as if they had just had the most normal conversation in the world. “Now that that’s settled.” And he leaned forward to properly attack the dinner he’d barely made a dent in due to the nature of the discussion. All sense of what-if and future consequences were dropped safely away in the back of his mind and out of reach – at least for now – because the thought of Kira truly unstoppable was as much a formidable one as it was a terrifying one. With no enemies to destroy, with no grand plans to orchestrate, Kira would focus solely on judging and purging the world of evil. But would that be enough to keep him occupied?–to keep that brilliant mind going in a world where there would be nothing more to hold his interest other than the knowledge that he was doing some semblance of good?

There was always the human world to play in, much as Ryuk was doing, but it wasn’t Light’s style. Not in the least. Mello had to wonder if Nothingness would be a kinder fate to eventual boredom. To the lack of stimulus he could get here, despite whether or not half the world was constantly on his tail – there was that thrill, that knowledge that he outsmarted them all, the constant planning went hand in hand with the judging. Death Gods did not have to orchestrate how one was to die. There was no need to hide their tracks, no explanations given. It was a job to be done, and one that obviously, not many were doing too well.

Mello frowned and suddenly Matt’s earlier comment made all the more sense. More than that, it made complete fucking sense because should Kira be ripped form this world and into the next as the deity he sought to be, he would indeed appear before L. But… would it be to brag his accomplishment, or to seek out the challenging companionship he would not find in the Shinigami Realm?

So much for tucking those thoughts away. Here Mello was once again obsessing over the fate of Kira’s immortal soul. He just did not seem learn.

“I’m assuming with the exception of this new development, everything else is all right..?” He managed to ask it casually enough, only sparing a brief glimpse at Dr. Gregory who looked anything but pleased over the settled matters but was refusing to say anything else regarding that particular topic.

The doctor glanced up, “He was hemorrhaging internally and suffering from septic shock due to multiple perforations in the abdominal cavity—stab wound not withstanding; but he seems to have patched up decently enough and the infection is flushed out. He has several broken ribs, a punctured lung—also patched up decently before it could collapse. Sprains, cuts, abrasions and rape trauma—healing well. He has flail injuries from the crash and a fracture in his left femur—it’s amazing he didn’t break all of his extremities. The coma, as all comas are, is random and unpredictable and all we can do is monitor it.”

As alright as one could be, given all that had just happened in a twenty-four hour period. Mello nodded, falling once again to silence. Naturally, they would remain here until he recovered, which could just as easily be a couple of days as several months. It would most certainly be a test, the wait, the inactivity. There was work to be done, sure enough but not knowing what would become of all this would drive them all mad. At least, this time, L was not alone through it all.

Mello forked another piece of chicken into his mouth before reaching for the neat triangle of chocolate cake set in the center of the table. That he had managed through the length of the prior conversation without a helping hand from his cocoa addiction was surprising enough. He indulged now, picking at it piece by savory piece. At least his appetite hadn’t failed him as he predicted.

“We’ll just be laying low for a while, then?” it was Matt who asked after a short while.

“Indeed,” L answered around a pastry. “We’ll monitor both the SPK and Bella’s church, but for all intents and purposes I’ve pulled us completely off the radar. Obviously Kira is instrumental in handling Bella, so I’ll be playing that role through the ring for now. I’ve monitored much of Light’s activity—he’s been communicating through secret encryptions most of which I have cracked, but not all, so I have to try and milk Bella for information as discretely as possible. As for Near, as Mello already brought up, we need to find out what use he has designed for the notebooks. His game has warped—though I suppose that greatly goes without saying—I have no doubt he will attempt to have us all killed—hence the extra security. For now, no one leaves the premises; all of our necessities are being imported and I have gone to great lengths to cover the tracks.”

Matt had to wonder when cabin fever would set in. He had no worries for himself, fully content to live indoors so long as he had something to entertain himself with. And since that too had been blissfully provided, he was set to go for months if needed be. Mello, however… he’d turn into a caged animal before long. Thankfully the villa was large enough, inside and out, that he could find something to do. Or so he hoped. For everyone’s sakes, really. He’d seen his lover turn into a complete loose cannon at having to stay in one spot for too long a time. So here was to hoping.

It was at that moment that Mello cringed, hissing a muted complaint through gritted teeth. Noriko had made herself known, no doubt having been exploring the villa through most of the day before at last catching the smell of food and deciding to investigate. It had been days since she had a chance to harass Mello and thus took the opportunity to jump squarely into his lap – wound or no wound, she didn’t seem to care, but thankfully did not have much complaint when he repositioned her and she curled up contently on his left thigh, peering curiously over the table at the array of food that must definitely be her dinner.

L blinked, particularly when Noriko reached a delicate little foot at his pastry, coming back with a few toes of cream that she daintily licked away. “Pocky,” the detective muttered, “Last I checked those weren’t for you.” She did it again anyway, and L pushed the pastry closer to her. “I was finished anyway,” he said, stretching before standing in his chair and stepping over the side to the floor. “If you’ll all excuse me.”

He was out of the room at that, and Dr. Gregory followed shortly thereafter. “Should check on the patient,” he mumbled.

Mello wasn’t going anywhere fast with Noriko on his lap helping herself to L’s leftovers, which gave Matt a chance to turn to his lover in relative private.

“Can I ask you an important question?” he muttered.

Mello’s eyebrow quirked as he playfully folded Noriko’s ears inside out.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.”

“Then ask.”

Matt took a deep breath. “Part of me is forced to understand that because Kira isn’t here to defend himself, L feels the need to take up the charge in his stead. But lately…well, Mell—what are the odds L has changed his mind?”

Mello blinked.

Matt clarified. “…Do you think L believes in Kira? In his divinity? It sounds crazy to even say, but…”

Mello thought about it for a moment, watching the pasty gradually disappear at the mercy of the kitten. “I think he’s searching for something to believe in. No, that’s a lie. I know he is – he has been for some time. As far as saying he’s begun believing in Kira down to the very last detail, I can’t say. I would not be surprised to find that he has begun to believe in the justice behind Kira’s actions, but in so far as believing him true divinity…” he shook his head. “I find it hard to believe, or I might simply be in denial to accept it.”

Matt frowned. “Can I ask you something else?...What is it about Yagami that has you both…captivated? I can’t deny it—it bothers me that even though you claim he’s so despicable, both of you would willingly throw your lives away to save him. Hearing L speak just now…fuck Mell, what are we doing? This is Kira.”

Ah there it was, the dreaded question for which he had no plausible answer. Shit. “I would not throw my life away for him, Matt,” he countered with a breath upon his lips. But he had come damned close on a number of circumstances nevertheless. “Honestly, I don’t fuckin’ know.” But that was a lie, on some level it was a lie because he understood part of the attraction, if only just a small part. “I cannot speak for L on this matter, but I told you… I sympathize. I do not pity him, but I sympathize because regardless of how much we do to keep him out of sight, he doomed himself long ago. He’s accomplished things most wouldn’t even dream of at his age, but could have been so much more. And while, I speak loosely here, ‘Light’ does not have the near-manic drive ‘Kira’ does – and mind you, I do not believe them truly a separate entity – he could have been great in other ways that did not involve punishing half the world and orchestrating events years in advance for the sake of self-preservation.” He paused, thinking. His glass was lifted off the table, its contents swirled slowly before he took a sip.

“He is despicable, but it is his arrogance that makes him so. And it’s an arrogance well-earned, all things considered. I do not approve what he stands for, nor what he’s trying to accomplish but I cannot help but admire the fact that he’s gotten this far.” He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, looking to his lover. “I don’t know. My own morals are fucked as-is and have been for a long time. I’m here still following L but not in his footsteps. I haven’t played by the rules in years, Matt and if we want to think objectively, I’m a perfect character profile for Kira’s lengthy list.” And perhaps therein lay the magnetism – not only was he working for L, which made him an immediate enemy, he also fit the spot of one to be eliminated all too perfectly. And yet, look at them, rolling around between the sheets only a day prior as if those details meant nothing. It was like playing with fire on both their parts.

Matt snorted, “And here I thought it was just the fucking.” That was a cover, because the answer either just didn’t suffice, or he needed time alone to truly process it. “But you’ll forgive me if I’m beginning to feel like the only one around here—save for the good doctor—who has any sort of perspective right now. I support L, but I think he’s found the worst possible person to fall so madly in love with. Seems to be a pattern of his—” an odd statement but Matt didn’t elaborate. “And I won’t even bother to psychoanalyze you, I don’t have to, but I will say that despite your reasons, most of your present thinking is being done below your trouser line.”

Mello deadpanned, either not having caught the prior comment regarding L’s track record, or letting it fly for now to question at a later time. “My mind is still very much my own, Matt.”

Matt shrugged. “If you say so.” He stood up then while Mello was still prisoner to the kitten, who ironically seemed to hang around everyone but her proper owner. “In any event, I want to see if I can get a bead on Near now that he’s also dropped off the radar. If he did get Light’s notebook, we best be figuring out what in bloody hell he’s planning to do with them.”

* * *

L didn’t realize how late it had gotten until he actually lifted up his gaze to see the numbers on the clock. 1am. He’d been sitting there for hours, scrolling through scans of the Death Note, scrutinizing the pages of shinigami writing to see if the symbol on Light’s side coincided with anything in the notebook. L was positive by now it was a symbol, and not some random glyph out of a rorschach test. But there seemed no viable evidence in any of the scans.

He’d been intently searching up until maybe an hour earlier when his gaze snagged on a rather attractive angle of Light’s body, and held there, drinking in each bend and curve of muscle and bone—no matter how battered or bruised—gliding slowly up to the shadows of his silent face…and now it was 1am.

L closed the laptop, moving from his perch in the chair to Light’s bed, settling his weight down against it, eyes ever fixed upon that silent face—abused, but beautiful all the same, that angelic way he still could lie there, such a bloody paradox if ever there’d been one…unless it wasn’t. And why did the theology of Kira seem so misleading lately? L hadn’t felt so clear minded in recent history as he had these last few days, but questions of faith had reared a troubling head, and now he found himself wondering if the reason Kira could look so angelic…was, frankly, because—he was.

The detective functioned on proof and fact, and he’d been searching for proof and fact of this theory for quite some time now. Perhaps the development of the shinigami notebook—its power inside Light—perhaps this was the path to that enlightenment one way or another? It was why it had to stay where it was…it was why L was suddenly willing to gamble it all away. If this new piece of the puzzle could manifest as proof one way or another whether Kira was righteous or wicked—L had to know. He had to know because faith just wasn’t good enough. Because he had to know if he’d sold his own soul for good, or evil—and where love was involved, did it really matter in the eyes of God?

* * *

Matt retreated to do as mentioned, alternating between gliding through the familiar world of the web and the distracting pixels of whatever game happened to be top of the stash when he plopped down in front of the PS3. It kept him going. His games and his cigarettes, a bottle of lager sitting empty beside him and the knowledge that he was currently the sanest one of them all.

His lover, on the other hand, had retreated from the room after a while, seeking solace out in the cool breeze of that late spring night. It was warmer here, the further south they went, the further away from home. Out away from all major cities, the stars were visible with a startling intensity. The ground warm beneath his feet, carelessly bare against decorative stone and grass. His steps slow, doing his best to take it easy on that damn leg, but the pain killers were working and all he felt was a dull throb. Still no sense in afflicting it further when there was little need for it.

Out in the dark of the gardens, just barely within the reach of the soft glow of lights illuminating the entrance, Mello sank down to the moist grass with the help of the nearby stone bench and bowing his head, removed the rosary that had become a permanent fixture around his neck. The red glass beads slid through his hands but it was not comfort they brought just then, and instead a heavier weight upon his shoulders, reinstating the guilt and the doubt that’d been lingering somewhere in the back of his mind for days – weeks.

In a sense, Matt was right. What in the bloody hell were they doing? Helping Kira as if he were this world’s greatest saint. He was anything but. Judgment it may be, and truthfully, his warped mission had accomplished some good years prior when the criminal world began to fear repercussion at this new god’s hand, but was that the way? Shit. The rosary was warm against Mello’s palm, and it was with that fisted hand he touched his forehead, grimacing at the thoughts that even now dared cross his mind.

“I’ve lost my focus after all…” he whispered and his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “I condemn him in his ways, but I’m not any better.” How many lives had fallen at his hands just in the previous day? How many wives and children mourned now their father’s loss? How many times in the past had he earned results with less than reputable methods? Time and again ignoring the tears of those that did not need to be involved, but were effectively broken by his brutal actions? Mello’s hands were stained and there was only so much blood that black polish could cover. “Verzeihen sie mir. Mit dem teufel, zum sich zu meinem anblick zu bewölken verließ ich Sie…”

It was impossible to gauge the hour by the time he heard the first crunch of grass behind him. “Denn Dein ist das Reich und die Kraft und die Herrlichkeit in Ewigkeit. Amen.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” Matt said quietly if a bit hesitantly. Mello could smell the smoke of tobacco in the air and exhaled, glimpsing over his shoulder before pushing himself up. The strain evident, but he did not complain nor seek an extra hand.

“You didn’t,” Mello said at last, replacing the rosary around his neck and glimpsing up to the house. Several of the lights had already been turned off for the night, but there was still a pale flickering in Light’s window. L would be there all night. “What time is it?”

“2. I figured you’d gone to bed,” Matt admitted a bit sheepishly. That beautiful ADD kicked in hard at times, it seemed as if tonight had been one of them. “Should get some rest.” Mello nodded briefly, although frankly, he wasn’t tired.

Mello’s gaze again drew up to the window, the pale glow of a laptop? Of life support machines? He drew a deep breath unconsciously. “I’d like to check on him first,” he said distantly. He didn’t notice Matt stiffen a bit.

“Who? Kira?”

The question stumped Mello—yes?—“No, L,” he said, nodding up to the room. “He’ll be there all night, I just want to see if he needs anything.”

“I can do that,” Matt replied. “You should get off that leg.”

“I want to do it,” Mello returned, and his tone left little room for argument.

Matt shrugged. “Suppose I’ll warm the bed then,” he quipped. But he stayed alongside Mello back to the house and as far as the second floor veranda. Mello watched after him a moment as Matt trailed down the opposite hall to their room, disappearing through the darkened doorway at the far far end. The blonde stayed a moment, then turned toward the wan light in the other direction, following the tepid path to Light’s door.

L was there, curled on the bed like a cat bedside Light, arms linked gently, fingers ever so closed over Kira’s. The detective was dead asleep—pale cheek pressed against Light’s bandaged shoulder—though unlike his beloved, L’s face was not so peaceful in his own slumber. His were tormented dreams, kept him balled tight for protection, kept the circles beneath his eyes as dark as they were—and was that because L had a conscience where Kira did not? Or was it cruel irony? That a force Mello had always seen as good—an ultimate good—should suffer every time he closed his eyes this way? There was no peace for L, not in justice, not in life, not in sleep—and certainly not—in love.

Mello lingered there just a short while longer before inching quietly into the room. He picked the neatly folded blanket off the chair in the corner and let it unfold from his grasp, shaking it loose before setting it gently over L’s tightly curled figure. Rest well, were the words he wished to say but refrained, not daring any further movement that would wake him, Mello backtracked, making sure the window was cracked so that the cool night air could circulate before leaving them be.

It was a sad sight and it reflected in those too-contemplative greens as he made his way back to his own airy room. Having become accustomed to living out of rented flats and hotel rooms, this was a delightfully welcomed change. Matt was already tucked away beneath the sheets, sprawled across the wide mattress, but Mello knew better than to assume him asleep. He lay on his front, watching the windows and the darkened vineyard beyond through the corrective yellow lenses of his goggles. He was hiding, Mello knew him too well. From what, however, was he hiding now? Or perhaps the better question was what exactly he was keeping stashed away inside.

Mello tugged the loose shirt up and over his head, tossing it carelessly in the general direction of the chair that would, with some luck, catch it ‘till the following morning. He sat down on the edge of the bed to inch off the black jeans he’d been conned into wearing for the sake of allowing his injury some breathing room it would not find constricted in tight leather and hissed as the denim rubbed along tightly bound bandages. “Move over or you’re becoming my bloody goddamned pillow,” he threatened and with a sweeping motion, leaned over to carefully swipe the goggles off his lover’s face. It earned him a curse, but he would just have to live with it.

“How is he?”

“Asleep for now. Who knows how long that’ll last, but it’s something.”

“You gonna be all right?” Matt asked, peering over his shoulder at the blonde who tried to no avail to make himself comfortable on his side of the bed.

“I’m fine,” Mello muttered absent-mindedly and tugged at the sheets.

“Alright,” and Matt gave in without a fight. There had already been far too many discussions that evening to add another one.

* *

“Huh? What?” L’s eyes opened slowly, face half buried in a blanket—and he was convinced Light had been speaking to him—mid-conversation the way they used to do back in the days when they slept together on a regular basis, handcuff chain wrapped this way and that. Light would complain L stole the covers, complain L tossed too much—essentially complained about everything, and he wasn’t even Kira at that point.

L lifted his head, gaze focusing on Light’s lovely profile, backlit by a softly beeping monitor. No. No he hadn’t been speaking had he? L had dreamed it, and the notion felt terribly empty just then. “Light,” he said quietly, brushing affectionate fingers against a bruised cheek. “Light, wake up.” It was more for the detective’s own benefit than anything—he wasn’t expecting a response, he wasn’t disappointed that he didn’t get one…

There was a cool breeze wafting in, the fresh air welcome, and L nuzzled further into the blankets—god he was tired tonight, so bloody tired, he didn’t even remember pulling a blanket on, but it felt good around him, trapping the warmth radiating from Light beside him. And that was good—that was a good sign. L twisted and sat his chin upon his lover’s shoulder, gazing at Light with sad eyes for long quiet moments, trying to recall his dream—Light had been there, and L couldn’t remember…

“Yes, I’m a fool,” L muttered, his words falling on deaf ears, head lolling to the side upon Light’s shoulder. “It seems I would betray myself to save you from your fate—from yourself—That’s ludicrous, yes?” L muttered. “I’m very much aware how one-sided this mentality is…” he cocked his head back up, considering his lover’s silent face. “…Is it?” and he stayed quiet as though waiting for an answer. “But I would never ask that of you—nor would I expect it.”

L pressed his lips to the bandages. “No, the promise is mine to bear and to keep; I will save you even if it means my death, I’ve known that for some time now. I’ve accepted it even if others cannot.” He slipped his fingers into Light’s, clasping his hand ever-so-gently given the injuries. “You’re worth it to me…to me you’re worth everything I have to give.”

L settled back into his favorite position, forcing his eyes closed, saddled against his lover as close as he could possibly burrow. “You’d better be listening, Kira-kun,” he mumbled sleepily, because this is the only time you will hear these words from me. I will not say them to your face, you bastard.” L smiled slightly, and squeezed Light’s hand just a little tighter. “I love you.”

* * *

The hours soon blurred into days which soon turned into the entirety of a week passing them by. There had been little change in Light's condition other than the continuous alarming rate at which he healed the sustained injuries, however he remained deeply under, giving no sign whether or not he would rejoin them in this world anytime soon. If at all, because there was still that possibility, regardless of the adamant refusal to consider it on L's part, and to a point, Mello's own.

Mello woke delightfully late that morning, finding himself pressed against his lover's back, breathing in the strong scent of shampoo from silky strands at the base of Matt’s neck. The brown had begun to recede to give way to red once again - he'd used a temporary dye after all. Truth be told, Mello had been missing it. Things had calmed between them despite the ever-present tension that remained behind due to Mello's relentless worrying over Kira's condition. That would not change anytime soon despite how much time had passed; if anything, it would grow worse. But at least Matt was no longer scowling snide remarks in his general direction, which was refreshing. Then again, perhaps he'd just needed a few romps in the hay to unwind.

The aroma of coffee was wafting from the well-lit kitchen not an hour later and Mello leaned against the counter, watching it pour into the pot with an ever-present hint of impatience. His leg had recovered reasonably well in the span of a week, having no need to put much strain on it as he would have were they still in full operation mode. And surprisingly enough, he had not yet driven himself crazy with boredom. It would come, likely, but for now they were all still safe.

In fact, he had discovered a new form of entertainment with which to pass long afternoon hours beneath the beat of the Sicilian sun. It had happened two days prior as he wandered through the vast property, allowing his mind to clear and do something other than sit indoors where he was sure to start twitching. Despite his lengthy time at Wammy's, he'd never actually experienced a true privileged British upbringing, but as he spotted the horses used by vineyard workers across the land, curiosity had struck. Within a day he had not only glamored the girl into allowing him to ride despite her apprehensions regarding whether or not he could do it, but had picked it up fast enough that she no longer had to grimace every few minutes.

It was out there Mello walked now, coffee mug in hand, heels thudding determined against stone and gravel. She was waiting for him and grinned as Mello approached all smiles and charm most did not think possible out of him.

"How did you sleep?" she asked innocently enough but with a glint to her caramel brown eyes.

"Well enough," Mello returned, setting the coffee down on the wooden table she sat at and promptly tugged his lengthening hair into a tight tail at the nape of his neck.

"You never did tell me what you do here," she broached the subject just as she had any all other light conversation they'd shared as of the last few days. What she hadn't been expecting, however, was Mello grin he flashed her before it disappeared behind the rim of the mug.

"I'd love to tell you," Mello murmured with a devilish glint, and as the coffee was put down a second time and he already walked away to the mount she'd brought him, finished, "But I'd have to kill you."

* *

L was standing there with his head pressed against the window pane, he’d been like that for awhile, new method of lamenting and thinking perhaps? Either way, Matt felt the need to knock.

In a week’s time, half of Light’s hospital room had been converted to L’s full-time headquarters, and the detective was prone to pacing the room’s veranda balcony while playing the violin—when he wasn’t standing there like a zombie staring out the window in the fashion he was doing currently.

“He rides well,” L said flatly, and Matt realized he was watching Mello race his new favorite pet around the vineyard. “There’s an equestrian division at Wammy’s now,” L said out of nowhere. “The orphanage acquired more land due to a recent anonymous grant so they installed the necessary facilities.”

Anonymous grant usually meant L had paid for it.

“Do you ride?” Matt asked—he wasn’t prone to asking L personal questions, it just sort of slipped out.

“I do,” L muttered—he still hadn’t moved, and Matt crossed the room quietly, his attention drawn to L’s laptops. One was monitoring the Kira ring, another, the SPK offices—three more were cases of an entirely unrelated nature. L had apparently taken this lull as time to clear his ever-burdened plate.

Of course it was hard to look at the laptop array without glimpsing Kira who was lying so nearby. In a week, his face was practically perfect again—some scratches, and a healing knife wound against his cheek, but all the swelling had gone down, bruises cleared up, split lip knit back together. No change in his comatose state, but just the other day Dr. Gregory had been remarking over how rapidly his fractured bones were recovering. Medical miracle or increasing portend of doom—the jury was still out.

And then L said it. “You know I’ve chosen Mello as my heir.”

Matt glanced up, slightly wide-eyed. No, his lover had not exactly passed along that little tidbit of information—though Matt had gleaned that must have been the case, even though Mello seemed far from ready to take it and L far from ready to give it up, oddly. Nevertheless, after a lifetime of striving for that very achievement, the least Mello could have done was mention that he’d attained it. Life goal and all.

“Though it occurs to me,” L continued, “Neither of you ever completed your schooling at Wammy’s. Your independent field work is impressive of course, and culminates in more experience training than your peers could ever hope to find back in England, but that does not excuse incomplete credentials.”

Matt’s brow had already twisted ten times over. “Uh—”

“It’s something that needs to be remedied,” L went on, “For Mello especially.”

“You see his boredom setting in?”

“It will,” L replied. “And I am not about to approximate how long we will be in this situation. It could endure passed the deadline, in which case Mello will need to take over as L.”

Matt winced, feeling a knot in his throat at the words—only the nonchalant way L spoke them alleviated the utter grief at the thought.

“I’ve begun to design a curriculum for him," L went on. "He doesn’t know it yet, but it is the truth. Mello however, does not strive to excel unless he’s challenged—that was the benefit of having Near as competition; it made him work to his utmost ability. Seeing as how we’re not at Wammy’s, and he will not strive to compete against me, due to a variety of internal issues—not that I won’t challenge him to, mind you—and forgive me, Matt, but he is not going to strive to compete against you either—that leaves me with one option at present.”

Matt’s gaze went to Light—and he wasn’t exactly in competitive mode.

L sensed Matt’s train of thought. “Light was the top student in Japan for most of his academic career. That includes his time at Daikoku Private Academy, Gamou Prep Academy and To-Oh University. I have every test he’s ever taken, every essay and paper he’s ever written, so on and so forth.”

“You’re designing Mello’s curriculum around Light?”

“I’m designing a portion of Mello’s curriculum around Light—the rest I’m designing at my caliber—as the world’s greatest detective.”

“You’re comparing them,” Matt said this rather darkly.

“In part, yes,” L replied. “I’m comparing their brains. I want Mello to strive to beat Light in everything he’s already accomplished—academically of course.”

Matt shuffled fingers through his reddening hair. “Didn’t Light get consistent perfect scores across the board?”

“You see my point,” L replied. “I will expect the same of Mello.”

* * *

Dinner was already being prepared in the kitchens by the time Mello returned to the house, high boots coated in dust, loose shirt damp, which he had no modesty issues in tugging off and wiping across his brow. It was hotter than what he was accustomed to, but he couldn't have been more pleased - disheveled to no end, but pleased nevertheless. Variety was always refreshing. As was the shower he sought at that very moment. But as he clambered up the stairs, tugging his hair out of the tight knot that bound it, Mello paused, catching the quiet murmur of voices from the medical room. Mildly surprised that Matt was in there with L rather than firmly attached to either his laptop or a gaming system or both, Mello deviated from his original path to peek in the doorway.

All hints of the prior conversation were gone as topics had moved past it. Matt had spent a good portion of the afternoon keeping the detective company - and by doing so, it generally oscillated between expected discussions and complete silence broken only by the sound of clacking on a laptop and the faint music emitted from the PSP. That was how many hours had been spent in the week prior, so it was not so awkward. Mello would have gone out of his mind but the two of them seemed right at home.

"Looked good out there today," Matt commented before even looking up from the tiny screen. Mello grinned with a thanks.

With a glimpse and nod toward the various laptops set up through the room, he asked, "Any new developments?"

“I’m bringing in someone to help us with Near,” L said unexpectedly—unexpectedly more to just Mello, since Matt’s head bobbed up suddenly. Of the topics and non-topics he’d covered with the detective throughout the day, that was not among them.

Mello’s face was appropriately perplexed. “What? Why?”

“Because you’re going to be very busy, and because we could use the help with Light out of commission right now.”

“Busy?”

“I’ll explain over dinner,” L muttered. “In any event—there’s no need to panic, you’re both already familiar with our new associate. She’s a graduate of Wammy’s and you grew up with her—the three of you.”

Mello’s brain started running down the roster of old Wammy kids, most of whom he only really recalled bullying out on the playground. Matt on the other hand was on the ball. “Linda?” He offered.

L nodded. “I’ve been keeping tabs, her psychoanalytical work lately has been impressive—and she was the only one at Wammy’s who ever made any attempt to get to know Near—in a good way. I’m bringing her on as a consultant for now, I want to see how she does. At the very least she can offer insight that maybe has escaped the rest of us, and help us to figure out what Near wants with the notebooks. Of course, she will only be fully briefed as to the situation and the nature of the case upon her arrival—approximately two days from now.”

Linda had always been a nice enough girl—she had a kind heart, probably why she ever even cared to know Near at all, she pitied his loner ways and wanted to bring him into the fold of the others. She was an artist, if Mello recalled, who was just embarking on her psychology studies when he’d left Wammy’s. Having a psychoanalyst around would probably serve a multitude of purposes considering the company L kept… L himself not withstanding. Linda’s sense of competition had never been cutthroat, but she excelled nonetheless, and Roger had her placed on ‘L’s List’ which was what the students often dubbed the honor roll—what else was it other than a listing of Wammy’s most promising minds, and everyone knew it was from those minds that L would chose his heir—and apparently, his field team.

“Ah,” was all Mello could offer. He needed to mull it over. Near was his, and Mello wasn’t sure how he felt about anyone interfering, beneficial to the case or not. But he supposed L was already well aware of his feelings on the matter. It was that ‘busy’ thing that had him curious. Busy? With what? If not the case at hand?

“Go get cleaned up, Mello,” L said, scrunched behind the laptop, toes curled up against the side of Light’s bed. “Dinner’s in an hour.”

The dismissal was taken with an appropriately lifted brow, but without injury. He was all too used to L’s ways to take insult where none was intended. With a last curious glance at the pair of them – which resulted in further heightening curiosity because Matt seemed to know something he did not – Mello backed away and continued toward what had been turned into their wing of the house.

With an hour to spare, he opted to sink to the bottom of the tub – and the term was used loosely seeing as one could practically swim in it – and rejoice in an extra fifteen minutes of relaxation at the mercy of a bath.


Dinner had become something of a formal occasion practically every night. It brought back memories once thought long gone because, truth be told, neither Matt nor Mello had had much of a chance for formal affairs of this nature. The extent of Mello’s more recent formal dinners were a different animal all together. He was back to his favored leather, but tended to don a half buttoned dress shirt for the occasion. Still-damp strands of blond were pulled back as was beginning to become a trend seeing as his hair was not getting any shorter and he had yet to make any implications of doing something about it.

In his usual seat at the corner of the table to L’s left, who of course took the header, not to establish a hierarchy but because that’s just how it happened from day one, Mello had yet to bring up the topic of his future preoccupations. Point for him. He had never done well with curiosity. As seemed to be habitual, however, L had picked the opportune moment to comment offhandedly over the regrettable lack of final examinations on his part. Opportune only because as a result, across from him, Dr. Gregory had come very close to wearing the richly colored wine Mello had at that moment alleviated from his glass.

The crystal was set down a bit harder than necessary and his free hand came to his lips, awarding him that extra moment to swallow the contents before sputtering, “What!” He had spent six bloody years on this case and L was now thinking about the fact he’d walked away from final examinations?! Had the world just stumbled a bit on its axis or had he actually heard that correctly?

Beside him, Matt barely contained a snort.

L’s next choice of phrasing set the scene up wonderfully: “Kira has more credentials than you do.” And that statement was capped off with L’s head rolling in Mello’s direction, slightly askew, and those dark dark eyes resembling the gaze of a bored cat—dull, expectant—blunt.

“Excuse me, is there a point, L?” Mello managed, trying to maintain a veneer of control. There obviously was a point, as L swished his bright red sugar-juice around in a crystal goblet. “I’ve been working on this case for 6 bloody years, you know.”

“Of course there’s a point,” L replied flatly. “I just made it—your credentials are not up to par.”

“Since when?”

“Since you walked out in your 4th year of Secondary School prior to year-end exams,” L said.

Matt was visibly biting the inside of his cheek, and Doctor Gregory was mildly amused. Mello on the other hand, had to fight not to gape at the detective. Did L suddenly have too much time on his hands now that Light had been absent for a week? What the fuck?

“I’ll spell it out for you,” L said plainly, “Since it’s apparently a shock. You are my heir, Mello—you will be the next L, your field expertise is impressive, your worldly experience vast and expanding—your credentials…are not up to par. I’m handing you my title upon my death, which may be as close as several months from now, or even sooner—therefore, you will meet my expectations. At present, brilliant though you may be, you are essentially: a high-school drop-out. L, cannot be a high-school drop-out.”

Mello’s jaw tumbled open; L certainly had a way. But the detective didn’t put too much insult into that statement, as he was merely just presenting the facts as they stood. He dropped a nutella-spread cupcake into his mouth and continued:

“I have designed an advanced curriculum for you to take you through the years you’ve missed in schooling; that’s of course only the beginning, as I expect you to continue your education at every given opportunity.” A scary thought that, as L had more degrees, PhDs, and Doctorates than possibly any one human alive. “To start, your curriculum will very closely follow… Light’s former curriculum at Daikoku Private Academy and To-Oh University. He was of course the most advanced student in the entirety of Japan through his academic career at both institutions, and his work and consistently perfect scores reflected that above and beyond—he put his professors to shame. I expect you to meet and exceed his accomplishments. You are no longer competing academically with Near, you will now be competing with Kira. And as you progress, you will eventually be competing… with me.”

L scarfed another cupcake. “This is the territory you are inheriting, Mello—it is one thing to be brilliant on the field, it is another thing altogether to be L.”

Yea. The world had just most definitely spun off its axis and was tumbling off into the unknown, because dear God, what the hell had just happened? Mello was left staring at him, tumbling along all that had just been said in hopes of catching up to the here and now. Damn, L was fucking serious. There wasn’t even a point in asking that much. Mello had been away from an academic environment for six years, six years focusing on this bloody case to the point of madness and now he was thrown right back where he’d left off. Only he was no longer the fourteen year old kid who wanted nothing more than to bash Near’s head with a textbook than face a lower score again. No, he was the much-too-jaded twenty year old who’d rather put a bullet in Near’s head and call it case closed.

Shit.

That is not to say that he had not picked up a book since. In fact, he’d always had something handy, never giving up that habit as it passed away the hours quite effectively, and that mind was ever-thirsty for all that it could possibly retain. Lately, however, there had been distractions. Endless hours in front of a screen, close calls left and right, near death experiences. The usual. And now L was expecting him to pick up Light’s – of all people’s!!! – prior curriculum. Unbelievable. Fitting, he supposed, given Light’s academic background and accomplishments, but goddamnit was Mello ever starting to feel as if he’d just been set up. The bastard had consistent perfect scores across the board without a single recorded slip-up. He knew that, L knew that. They all bloody knew that and now Mello was expected to match it. At least against Near, there was always that possibility that the little white twit might slip up. Light had not. What was done was done and his record was flawless.

Shit.

And to compete against L himself? Ha… Yea, he supposed he would be really fucking busy from now on.

It had been different in the past – that goal, that dream to inherit that most honored title, that dreamscape illusion that it alone would be the single most amazing accomplishment in the world – and it damn well came close – was so very different now. His mind was not clouded by childish beliefs and stories spread. Perhaps had he not become involved, perhaps had he remained behind like a good little pupil, it would have been different and the definition would not have changed so much. Because while they had all aspired to take that place, as a kid, the consequences of aspiring that high never came to mind; L’s mortality had never come into play, not really. Not through all the competition and endless, grueling examinations. It was here staring Mello in the face now. It had been here for several months now.

To gain that title, L had to die. Kind of killed the excitement out of the accomplishment regardless of how much an honor it was to finally – at last! – be something more than the loose cannon who’d placed second to Near all those years. But also, by leaving the orphanage behind, and in essence seeking and gaining experience out in the real world, he had also changed. Mello’s inheritance of that title would open the door for a very different ‘L’ when the time came, and they all knew it. Perhaps L knew it best of all, which would certainly explain this recent push to gain the credentials he’d walked away from.

But now to be expected to match and surpass Light’s credentials? Hell, it was a compliment to have L expect such high marks of him after such a lengthy absence from anything academically inclined, but it was startling nevertheless. Mello would do it, sure enough, or drive himself positively out of his mind trying to. It nevertheless came at him out of nowhere. And even though all eyes were on him at that moment, expecting outrage or an argument of any sort, he could not think of any.

Thus, chewing hard on the inside of his bottom lip, Mello nodded briefly. “Very well…” As if he actually had a choice. He did, obviously, there was always the choice of refusing the challenge and thus refusing the responsibility he’d worked for all these years, but he couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t. Not only was it a matter of pride, it was a matter of letting L down. And seeing as the detective had always believed in him, in some way or another, that was just unacceptable. So truly, he had no choice and that was all right. He would rise up to the challenge once the initial shock wore out. It would be all out war.

L’s smile was subtle but there, and he ate another sweet to hide it. “Good,” he muttered with his mouth full, “You start tomorrow. There’ll be time to work on the case as well—Light was Kira at the same time he was excelling in University—multitasking extreme situations is a prerequisite.”

* * *

Two days later and Mello was piled under books—he’d chosen the sun room on the eastern end of the villa to use as his own personal study, and now it was laden with bookshelves and couches and coffee tables. In fact, L gave him an espresso machine as part of the room’s permanent fixture—and a mini fridge to keep his chocolate in so it wouldn’t melt as he was pounding the workload.

He was beginning strictly with Light’s curriculum—not that that was necessarily starting slow. It was one thing to read the stats, to know that Light was smart—it was another thing to go through his courses—and not even his courses, but the extra shit he added on to them. When the normal kids were struggling through the mandatory syllabus, Light was adding a whole bloody wing to his reading library. God, his fellow classmates must have hated him. Light even gave L a run for his money—Mello could not help but recall the one time back in the hotel he’d borne witness to Light and L watching an episode of Jeopardy in Italian. It wasn’t who got the right answer—it was who said it fast enough. Apparently the two of them had established a wide array of genius games between them—stemming from when they’d shared the end of handcuffs. Like holding entire conversations in classic literary or philosophical quotes—for hours, and then getting mad at each other if one or the other quoted the same source too many times. They’d outlawed Shakespeare during one session.

In any event, the current program was no game, and despite having been away for awhile, Mello fell into synch surprisingly fast. He’d barely noticed L appear in the doorway sometime around 2pm, and the detective waited patiently until he was confident he wasn’t interrupting Mello’s train of thought too horribly.

“Linda’s here,” L said. “Come with me to meet her.”

The end of the pen still firmly in his mouth, Mello looked up with an owlish blink as if he truly had not even noticed the intrusion. Damn. Obsess over one thing and suddenly paranoid senses fell dormant. Any other time he would have heard L coming from just the faintest hint of fabric brushing together. Mello still instinctively sat in such a way in which he could see the entirety of the study, however, and cover all his dorrways and bases. Some habits were harder to break than others.

Linda. “Oh...” Shit. He’d practically forgotten about that slight detail. Right. Extra help since L was a man and a half down at the present moment. The pen was dropped onto the desk whose surface was completely hidden beneath various texts, notebooks, a couple of different espresso mugs and the trademark foil wrappers bunched into little balls. Mello pushed himself up, practically tripping over Noriko who had come in sometime earlier that afternoon to sunbathe in the warm patch of light before the broad windows. He hadn’t even noticed she was there. She peered up at him, ears straight up at attention and he apologized by picking her up and scratching her head before plopping her down into one of the chairs on his way across the study.

* * *

Linda was…not what he remembered. And judging by the way Matt nearly dropped his smoke, she wasn’t what Matt remembered either. Last they’d checked Linda was a bit scrawny, a bit nerdy, with her wide doe eyes and mismatched shag of blond hair she usually kept up in pigtails. She’d filled out since then, matured, long blonde hair still tied back in a neat French braid, face slimmed, a bit statuesque—high cheekbones, lush lips, eyes blue and vibrant. She was dressed professionally in a navy blue tailored skirt suit—not at all like her Wammy cohorts—L included, who was, as usual, shuffling around in bare feet and worn jeans and that white shirt he had to own at least a million of. It was something of a miracle given all the drizzly, gooey, sticky, unnatural things he crammed into his mouth, that he never really spilled anything on a white shirt…nothing shy of miraculous actually. But that was beside the point.

Linda was stepping out of a helicopter, one of the security guards taking her bags, guiding her under the spinning propeller to the veranda where L stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, Mello and Matt flanking him.

Her face lit at the sight of them all, and while she seemed borderline ecstatic to see L (oh yes, she’d been one of the multitude of Wammy-brainy tweens to crush on the detective whenever he’d make an appearance), her jaw nearly dropped at Mello standing there—tall and decked in leather, shag of blonde hair roped back into a ponytail—handsome face despite his scar which only added to his sensual character rather than detracted from it.

Mello felt her eyes glance him up and down, as though she couldn’t quite believe he was the same Mello, schoolyard bully extraordinaire.

“Linda, glad you could join us,” L greeted in his usual way.

Ah, the girl’s face said it all—she looked like she truly wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hug him for giving her this shot at what she’d aspired to. To be on L’s team, to do what she’d worked so hard for her whole life. She had that Wammy innocence still—the one Mello had only recently been brooding upon, the one devoid of experience, that had not yet seen the blood and suffering, that had not yet danced with any devils.

“Thank you, L,” she said, quite professionally. “It is my pleasure to be here.”

L nodded. “You remember Matt and Mello—they were your classmates.”

“Of course,” Linda said, she was playing it formal, but bloody hell, they’d grown up together.

Matt nodded, “Hey Linda,” he said. Same old Matt.

Mello smirked, and damnit if it wasn’t vaguely seductive, didn’t speak of all the he’d become since he’d left the orphanage—didn’t intrigue her to no end. “Linda,” he said congenially.

“Good,” L said, “We’ll get you settled in—Mello, please show Linda her room.”

“’Course,” Mello replied already half turning to return the way they’d come. “This way,” he told her with that easy smile that was not particularly conscious, not intentionally flirtatious and simply just him.

Linda was led up through the lavish but surprisingly comfortable house and Mello pointed out key places along the way. The girl was stunned and it was starting to show. And yet, as he glimpsed at her, he could not help but laugh, mounting the first step that would take them up to the second floor. “Don’t be so stiff,” he told her, motioning her toward the south wing and making no reference to the closed off medical rooms.

She seemed taken aback by the comment and flushed despite herself. “This came as a surprise,” she admitted, taking it all in. “As if getting summoned here by L wasn’t enough, I most definitely wasn’t expecting to see either of you here.” Especially after the way you took off, were the unsaid words between them. Mello allowed a smirk and stepping ahead of her, pushed open what would become her bedroom door. It was set up much the same way as his own; all light and air, a wide bed and smooth wooden furniture, flowy curtains that brushed stone floors with the breeze.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he nodded toward the room and then with a grin touched a hand to her back as she inched forward to peer inside. “No one’s interviewing you for a job, there’s no need for formalities,” he teased her. “Get comfortable and meet us downstairs.”

Perhaps he should have wished her luck in advance. The poor girl was going to need it. If he knew L, he knew the detective would waste little time before bringing her up to date with the situation – and while on the surface it was not so bad, the hidden details that lingered behind the scenes were just a tad bit startling. Yea, she would need all the bloody luck she could get.